


Take Off Your Mask

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 23:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13669677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Note before reading: non-penetrative f/f noncon (and m/m noncon in the background).The Mist here was inspired by the tv show (The Mist 2017).





	Take Off Your Mask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmaryllisBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaryllisBlack/gifts).



> Note before reading: non-penetrative f/f noncon (and m/m noncon in the background).
> 
> The Mist here was inspired by the tv show (The Mist 2017).

 

_"It's coming!"_

When the mist comes from everywhere, and it always comes seemingly from everywhere all at once, then it's too late.

  
Milla is ought to be used to it by now, to its quiet suddenness, to the chill it brings and the ghostly heaviness it fills the world with, but her pulse turns rapid before she can brace herself and it feels as though the mist is spreading with an intentional slow speed - swallowing one tree at a time, one person at a time.

  
But Milla can't blame the trembling of her hands and the shakiness that's almost seizing her solely on the mist, her captive had managed to tackle her onto the forest ground right in front of everyone despite the restraints holding both of her hands together. And that's a dangerous threat, even if her captive doesn't know about it being such.

Fury is bound to sear through Milla.

  
Milla growls in anger as the boss throws orders at them, adjusting the mask covering half of her face. She swiftly manages to grip the hands of the woman she had caught earlier, and easily - roughly - places a foot on her ankle to keep her down - trapped at her feet and will. "Stay fucking still."

The woman, now pressed against her thighs, shrieks loudly, having realized her possible fate, and an attempt to break free ensues a sharp _No!_ while someone continues to sing. "It's coming! The Mist is coming! run for your life or die! Or die!"

Their boss punches that someone into quietness, however, interrupting her mad laughter. "We'll camp here until The Mist clears. Keep the bitches alive or die with them."

"That hurts, Markunt! I'm telling-"

"You were being noisy."

  
Despite the woman's struggle to free herself, Milla notices that the warning hadn't reached the two raiders, who couldn't wait till they reached the Castle to fuck their captive, but The Mist had. The one already wearing his mask stumbles with his own clothes as he pulls out from the man pinned to the ground while the other scrambles to find his as The Mist encloses on the three of them.

The man's pleadings turn to screams of fear and pain in an instant, and quickly they mix with those of his captor as the remaining raider appears from The Mist.

Markunt blocks him, rips his mask off his face as The Mist swallows them both.

 

Milla can't see what happens next, but she hears it and hearing is enough.

She inhales deeply to calm herself - she needs to be calm through this, and her hold on the woman tightens.

"Sandy, get their gears and clothes once they're dead." Markunt orders from inside The Mist, his voice not faltering by the wails of pain.

  
Milla's captive whimpers at that, watching everyone fall into calmness as they settle the supplies they have found and the people they have captured with the same amount of carelessness indifference, as The Mist covers them.

  
Milla fixes her eyes on her, there is still resistance in her - in her gaunt body, Milla can feel it in her efforts to move, to break free as if she hadn't realized already that she won't be breaking anything any time soon.

  
That resistance, however, is quickly replaced with despair, surrender. She looks up at Milla with horror in her eyes, with tears mixing with the stains of blood on her face, begging for a mask. She pushes into Milla, taking her off guard again as if Milla hadn't done this a few times already, but then she hides her face in Milla's thigh. She clings to her for protection, and strangely, that brings back Milla's steadiness - calmness while The Mist rushes toward them.

 _That's new,_ but Milla doesn't complain as whatever control she might have in this fucked up world returns to her with a pleasurably scorching sensation. It travels through her, the wetness of tears seeping through the fabric of her pants only ignites it until it sinks and pools right in her core, almost making Milla fail her task; keeping their new bitch alive.

  
Milla takes out the gas mask, it's barely usable (on purpose), and covers the crying woman's face before The Mist can claim her.

  
Milla keeps her hand on her head, one strap tucked between her fingers to affirm her control, but the woman finds strength to pull her hands from Milla's grip and secure it properly on her nose and mouth.

  
Milla lets her have that, but presses her against her crotch instead. Perhaps from anger, perhaps to prepare her for what's coming.

But relief is instant that Milla already has to double her efforts to refrain from thrusting her hips. She digs the tip of her boot a little harder on the weeping woman's ankle - just a little, she doesn't want broken limbs, no, just spirits - in an attempt to tame her rushing arousal, and maybe to take revenge for knocking her to the ground minutes ago.

  
Milla looks around. She only sees white, almost gentle like a serene cloud, but nothing else, not even the tree trunks a few feet away or her group. There are murmurs and small talks, and there are the sounds of the life The Mist can never take: a faraway waterfall gracefully falling in an effort to comfort Milla in this fucked up world, _maybe_ , animals with better survival skills. And there is silence, too, more deafening than her captive's sobs.

 

Milla takes a deep breath and sighs, letting go of her captive. It isn't enough, fresh, and the slight suffocation merely heightens her arousal that the thought of a quick fuck is the only solution.

Not to mention, her captive is still lying at her feet, trembling like a leaf and not trying to escape again, that's as broken as it gets.

 

 _She fulfilled her task,_ Milla still has a place in the new world that had been built on the ruins of the former; the world human lost to the mysterious mist, and it is not Fucking Hole Number fourteen.

The feel of her captive's heat and round hip against her leg weakens Milla further.

  
Milla unbuckles her belt without as much as a quiver in her hands. She wants her captive's mouth and tongue on her dripping pussy, she wants her captive's pussy with its heat and wetness against her own. Her mouth already craves biting and suckling on nipples, but she doesn't have the time for reluctance or ripping clothes, and the mask has to stay, so humping her captive's thigh like a bitch it is.

Her captive doesn't resist as Milla adjusts herself on one of her thighs - well, she can only do so much with her restrained hands, but never keeping the mask on and pushing Milla off at the same time - and through the closeness and the missing left goggle of the gas mask, Milla sees the reason why she chose to keep the mask.

_It's familiar._

  
Milla locks eyes with her, one hand kneading her ass. "Come on, take it off," she tells her, aligning herself properly. But maybe she's telling herself that, _again_ , for when her captive sobs weakly, Milla merely repeats it again. "Take the mask off. You can leave then."

The looseness of her clothes makes the fraction good, so good that her breaths turn short and quick in a matter of seconds, and giving in to the heat, to the feel of her captive's body under her is only easy.

  
Thin branches break under the boots of Milla's group while faint weeping still echos amidst the little talks, and in the back of her hazy mind, Milla knows she's cheating by not giving her captive a proper mask, which will ensure her a chance to fight, but it won't keep her up at night. But before sleep, she might wonder if her captive's cowardice to not face The Mist, the fears it manifested, was the same as hers.

  
Right now, however, Milla will muffle her groans, and thrust harder because the way her captive whimpers with each move takes her closer to her release.


End file.
